


i love you will still sound the same

by amyscascadingtabs



Series: parts of the story [4]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Dating, Declarations Of Love, Drabble Collection, F/M, Fluff, Healthy Relationships, Married Couple, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Pining, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-13 14:24:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17489669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyscascadingtabs/pseuds/amyscascadingtabs
Summary: Peraltiago drabbles/shorter stories, based on a prompt list of "100 different ways to say I love you."





	1. and i promised myself i wouldn't let you complete me

**Author's Note:**

> title from a song by oh honey! ❤︎
> 
> these prompts will be written in random order and published as they're finished!
> 
>  
> 
> prompt number 3, sent in by santiagoswagger: “No, no, it's my treat.”

While Amy Santiago has a few pointers on Jake Peralta’s professionalism in the workplace, such as his affinity for bringing home cases after hours or being categorically worthless at cleaning his locker, she will admit he rarely resorts to foul language. A muttered, disappointed  _ fuck this  _ when a case is proving particularly grueling is usually the worst she hears.

That's what makes her understand just how pissed he must be now. There’s a string of cuss words coming from the break room, a series of strongly worded insults seemingly directed at the vending machine. A few months earlier, she found him in here a late evening swearing as he tried and failed to wrap a Christmas gift for Sophia, but this time something else appears to be the problem.

She sighs. As much as she wants to finish up and go home for the evening, she feels a sense of responsibility over making sure he's okay - especially after he broke up with his stupid hot, stupid successful girlfriend a week ago. It’s purely out of friendship, of course. Checking up on each other is just something friends do.

 

He's stopped cursing when she reaches the break room. Instead, he's standing arms crossed and legs wide in front of the machine like he's challenging it to a fight, glaring at the candy section and then at the card terminal, breathing deep.

He’s angry, which shouldn’t affect her but does _ ,  _ although not in an unpleasant way. His focused eyes, tensed jawline, and  _ oh,  _ he’s doing that thing with his mouth where his tongue goes to the inside of one cheek and he’s looking from side to side and she can’t tell why it’s attractive, but it is _.  _ She swallows dryly, trying not to think about any of the imaginary scenarios her mind is drawing up. She’s tired and overworked and hasn’t been getting much action since her own breakup with Teddy. She doesn’t  _ actually _ want that tongue to - 

Nevermind. 

“Hey, Ames.” He gives the vending machine a half-hearted kick. “Sorry about the cursing.”

“It’s okay.” She feels her cheeks heat from his use of the nickname. Even Scully calls her Ames at times, but Jake’s use of it is the only one to make her blush. “How’s it going in here?”

“Pretty terrible”, he admits. “Stupid machine’s rejecting my card.”

“You’re  _ that _ broke?”

“No!” He scoffs. “I mean, I don’t think. This credit card hasn’t been the same since part of it melted on the stove a couple weeks ago, though.”

She tries to look sympathetic, she does, but it’s such a Jake thing to do and she’s tired and he makes her laugh, somehow.

“You could ask your bank for a new one, you know.”

“Eh. Charles is so happy to pay for stuff in the meantime, it’s almost like I’m doing  _ him _ a favor.” She raises her eyebrows at him and he shakes his head, his annoyed expression changing to a goofy smile. “I’m kidding. Obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“Yeah. I mean - yeah.” He looks down at his feet before looking up at her and shrugging. “Sorry. I’m kind of a mess at the moment.”

_ You’re always a mess _ , she wants to say.  _ And weirdly enough I actually like you for it. _

“That’s okay”, she says instead. “Have you tried punching the machine? Rosa-style?”

“Don't have the right touch. Punch. Whatever.”

“Ah.”

He sighs. “I think I'm just going to go finish my work without Sour Patch Kids. I might still have some of that Mexican sour candy left in a drawer somewhere.”

“Wasn't it like, proven to give people nerve damage?”

He nods, grimacing, and she rolls her eyes. For a fleeting moment, there is no trace of the fumbling awkwardness which has hovered between them since the road trip where he found out she may have had a few teensy feelings for him once. They're colleagues and they're friends, friends who take turns teasing and being there for each other. They’re okay. 

“You know what? I’ll pay”, she offers. “It’s what, a couple dollars? It's fine.”

“You don't have to.”

“No, no, it's my treat. I’ll go get my wallet.” She turns on her heel before he has another chance to protest.

 

The vending machine accepts her payment smoothly, and when he offers her a few of the candies with a look of genuine care on his face, she doesn't have the heart to say no, even though it's a Wednesday and she's trying to cut back on sugar. 

She's never had a problem with discipline, but resisting Jake Peralta is growing more and more difficult. 


	2. i need you like cake on my birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt number 60, sent in by darkrosemind: "Happy Birthday."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from birthday by all time low, ahah.

Although it feels like an inherently creepy thing to say, reminding him of stalker cases he’s worked or 2008 vampire novels, Jake loves watching Amy sleep. She takes longer than him to fall asleep and often wakes earlier, meaning it's a rare occasion when he does get to do it, and in most cases he's perfectly content observing his sleeping wife. Amy's relaxed when she sleeps, always on her right side facing him, always with her arms a bit in front of her face like she'll punch anyone who gets too close. Her hair is spread out every direction on the pillow, and she's breathing at an even pace, making him feel like he's meditating just by listening to her.

Today, however, he would like her to wake up. There's no alarms to rouse them on their first free Sunday together in two weeks, but he has plans, and he needs her awake for them. He has two fresh mugs of coffee, he has two gifts wrapped in old crosswords he’s saved from their recycling bin, and he has a reservation at a brunch place nearby with actual good reviews. None of his plans are much fun without her. 

He opens the blinds, squints at the late-August sunlight shining him right in the face. Amy flinches, but continues sleeping. He places a hand on her shoulder, gently shaking her, but receives little more in response than a drowsy hum.

 

Okay, so this is creepy. Sure, they  _ did  _ tire each other out the night before - after midnight sex counts as birthday sex, she’d claimed and he’d agreed - but surely not this much.

“Amy. Ames.” Nothing. “Babe? Honey? My brilliant wife who I love very much?”

“You need to sing”, she mumbles, keeping her eyes closed.

“I need to what?”

“I’m not opening my eyes until you sing Happy Birthday to me”, she repeats, adjusting her pillow.

“Can't I just play it from Spotify?”

“Nope. You're singing.”

“So many demands”, he complains, extending the  _ a  _ for exaggeration before coughing to clear his voice. “Fine, fine, here we go - Happy Birthday to you…”

It's kind of false and definitely does not remain the same melody throughout, but she opens her eyes and sits up, drawing the floral comforter to her chin and watching him expectantly. When he's done, he takes a deep breath of relief and then kisses her, feeling her smile against his lips.

“Thanks”, she grins. “That was beautiful.”

“You're ridiculous.”

“No, I’m enjoying the fact that my  _ husband  _ is here to celebrate my birthday with me for the first time in two years.”

“Yeah.” Jake reaches for the blue coffee mugs he placed on their nightstand and handing the one with milk to her. “Is it weird that it feels like a lot of pressure?”

She tilts her head to the side. “Why would you feel pressure?”

“I missed two birthdays.” He did, one in witness protection in Florida and one while incarcerated. Each one haunts him, because he doesn’t understand what kind of shitty person misses their partner’s birthday twice, no matter the extenuating circumstances. Amy deserved better.

 

“Wasn't exactly your fault, though”, she reminds him softly as he leans against the headboard next to her. “I didn't care that you were missing my birthday, dumbass. I just wanted you home.”

He relaxes at that. It's an unnecessary fear, he knows, but even after three months of marriage there are days when he fears he's not doing a good enough job, won't ever be able to.

He's lucky to have someone to tell him otherwise.

“Well”, he smiles, “I  _ am _ home.  _ And  _ I have gifts.  _ And  _ I am ready to take you out for brunch in an hour.”

“I do love all of those words a lot”, Amy muses. “But if I had to pick one, it’d still be the first.”

“Aww, Ames. Age is making you  _ so _ much cheesier.”

“Hey!” She punches his shoulder, almost making him spill out the coffee in bed. “You're two years older than me.”

“Well, you’re cheesier than me.”

“No way, we're both equally terrible.”

“Title of our sextape?”

“Nah”, he grins. “That’s at least one thing we’re not terrible at. Happy Birthday, babe.” 

 

The pressure’s not gone, but it’s helped by the smile on his wife’s lips as she opens a copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone with the Ravenclaw cover page, made almost unnoticeable by her complimenting him on his choice of a new ballpoint pen.

 

He’s missed birthdays before, but through the way he trails kisses down her chest later, promising her to make the fact that they’ll have to rush to brunch worth it, he lets her know he’s planning to make up for it. 


	3. you are something magical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt number 37, sent in by hearteyesperalta: "Can I kiss you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm honestly impressed by my own ability to write these pieces as short bits and not make them super long like i usually tend to. i'm actually doing what i set out to do! say whaaat.

He shouldn’t be scared, yet he’s terrified.

It’s Amy, it’s just Amy. He’s worked across from her for years, solved cases with her, stayed over on her couch after some drunken dinner party with the squad a couple years ago. He’s seen her overworked and exhausted, anxious and pissed off, overly enthusiastic and in love. He’s seen her without a shirt on when she’s gotten hurt in the line of duty, seen her in unfairly tantalizing party dresses, in bomb suits and Terry’s old racist t-shirts. He’s seen her sick, healthy, furious, ecstatic. 

It’s just Amy.

It’s just Amy, but she likes him back now, which happens to change everything. 

 

There wasn’t any of this anxiety yesterday.

If there was, it was gone with the second Kamikaze shot. Yesterday evening happened fast, happened with tipsy laughter and his suggestion they’d go to his place for a last drink, became stupid good making out ending in even better stupid good sex. Yesterday was incredible, was everything he’d wanted for so long and everything he never knew he wanted in the first place.

It makes no sense why tonight is so scary.

 

It’s just Amy, sitting next to him on the couch, and they’re screwing light and breezy so he guesses that means they’re  _ dating _ now.

There’s a movie playing on the TV, but he’s barely noticing. Whatever is happening on the screen is a flurry of movement, rainbow of colours, melisma of tones, all because Amy’s next to him.

Amy’s next to him and Amy’s  _ here _ and she’s stolen a blanket to drape around herself because she’s perpetually chilly, but her head is warm and heavy on his shoulder and her hand feels warm on his thigh.

She’s so close and she’s driving him crazy. With the way her hand’s stroking his thigh through his jeans, she must know what she’s doing.

He takes a deep breath, finally daring to jump off the cliff into uncertainty and look into her eyes and whisper the only words he’s been able to focus on since Charles left.

“Can I kiss you?”

  
  


She laughs, making him regret the question because maybe he misinterpreted everything and that’s not what this is, maybe she was playing with him earlier, maybe it’s not real.

Then her hands are cupping his face, and he’s thinking the smile on her lips may just be better than the scene in Die Hard when John McClane says  _ Yippee Ki-yay, Motherfuckers _ and all the free orange soda refills in the world.

“Yeah”, she whispers. “You can.”

 

He does.

His lips meet hers, and in the very same second, all his fear disintegrates momentarily and he’s not scared anymore.

It’s just Amy, kissing Amy, and it’s just better than anything else he could be doing in this moment in time. 

 

Yeah. Screw light and breezy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i may or may not have written the entirety of this in my notebook during five minutes here and five minutes there over the course of a school day in lessons when absolutely nothing was happening woops (chill out, people, i'm always listening and taking notes whenever they're saying something.)


	4. come home to my heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> no. 86, suggested by anonymous: "You're important too."

Everybody’s talking at the same time, sound waves of voices streaming in from every corner of Shaw’s to her eardrums, vibrations changing into signals her brain tries to interpret. Logically, she understands all these noises are separate conversations of sentences and arguments, but in her head it’s all turning into meaningless nonsense and Amy feels like she’s going insane. She doesn’t use that word lightly, because mental health stigma and prejudice is a very real thing, but it’s the best word she has to describe the way Shaw’s current noise level is making her feel.

She’s worked too long hours recently, gotten herself too lost in a case, deprioritized sleep and food to catch the criminal who robbed a string of convenience stores and later killed several key witnesses. This exhaustion has happened before and will likely happen again. She simply needs to go home, change into sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, make herself a cup of green tea and some oatmeal and then sink into a blessed, dreamless sleep for eight or so hours and she’ll feel human again. 

Only she can’t go home. Technically, she’s fully capable of getting up and leaving, and there’s not a bone in her body excited by the thought of staying here for another hour or two, but Jake’s here. He and Charles were working a homicide at the same time she struggled with her case, chasing a resurfaced criminal from three years ago, and after a final confrontation on an apartment roof -  _ super  _ dope, her boyfriend had described it, pretending not to listen when she mentioned his slight fear of heights - they caught him. Charles insisted they’d go to Shaw’s and get drinks to celebrate Jake’s hard work. 

So her boyfriend of two months is here, mingling with their friends and laughing at something Terry’s saying, which means Amy’s here. Even working across from him, she’s barely seen him these last few days, and maybe she's clingy and embarrassing but she’s missed him. Being with Jake is always better than being alone, no matter how heavy her eyelids feel and how everything is spinning just a little.

 

She's so tired she barely notices him sitting down next to her. Not until he starts clumsily massaging her shoulders and she instinctively fears she's been joined by Hitchcock does she jerk to life, finding Jake next to her. He's in the classical leather jacket and flannel get-up, grinning widely as she looks up at him, and  _ damn, she's missed seeing him more _ . 

“How's the night going, Ames?” He asks, genuine concern in his voice. “Not to insult you or anything, but you look more dead than at least three of the five corpses Charles and I found.”

She scoffs. “Not to insult me?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Rude”, she mutters. “I’m okay. Just really tired.”

“Oh.” He strokes her hair, messing it up just a little by massaging her scalp. “Want me to take you home?”

“No, come on.” Amy yawns. The head massage feels amazing, making her even more relaxed and also making her fear she’ll fall asleep with her head on the table. “It's your night. I’m here celebrating you.”

“You mean, you're here almost falling asleep from utter exhaustion.”

“Same thing.”

“Definitely not”, he snorts, shaking his head. “We can leave if you'd rather.”

“We can't just  _ leave _ ”, she protests. “This is important. You're important.”

“You’re important, too. Importanter, even.”

“That really is not a word.”

“No? We can debate it while you go to sleep”, he offers, taking her hand. “Come on, Santiago. I'm taking you home.”

 

She falls asleep the minute her head hits the pillow, barely able to enjoy the fact that Jake’s letting her be little spoon. When she wakes up the next morning, he’s still there - having slept in his now crumpled shirt and jeans - and they’ve not said the word yet, but she looks at him and is overwhelmed by how much she loves her boyfriend.


	5. all i need is to see your face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 65, requested by Anonymous: "I'll help you study."

His phone is alight to show the numbers _ 3.31 a.m  _ when he wakes up from what sounds like his girlfriend crying from the kitchen. 

Naturally, because he’s a detective, he runs through all possible catastrophe scenarios rapid-fire in his head before realizing the actual circumstances; they’re T-minus three days to Amy’s Sergeant’s exam and have officially reached the point where crying has become part of her daily stress routine. It doesn't make it any less unsettling.

Jake grabs a pair of sweatpants thrown haphazardly on the floor the previous night and pulls them on with record speed, then ventures out into the kitchen and living room space. She promised she’d join him in just a moment when he went to bed at midnight, but her side of the bed was cold and her pillow looked untouched. She must have spent the last three hours out here; hunched over a thick book and notepad with a set of pens next to her, going through the study material for the exam over and over again.

Crying.

 

It's a lighter kind of crying, one he’s impressed by himself for picking up on all the way from the bedroom, but he can tell by her labored breathing and the two uneven braids in her hair she’s moving up the Santiago panic scale in a brisk pace with it. 

“Ames?” She flinches when he squeezes her shoulder, dropping one of the pens to the floor. He picks it up for her, places it back on the notepad. “What’s up? Why are you studying this late?”

His girlfriend looks up at him, all swollen eyes and black stains on her cheeks from smeared makeup she never took off. “I have to.”

“At three a.m. in the morning?”

“The exam’s in three days, Jake.”

“Yeah, and you know the material by heart.” He pulls out the chair next to her and sits down. “We both already know you’re going to ace that test.”

She sniffles, then shakes her head. “I might not. I - there’s this one practice question, I’ve been at it for an hour, and I really don’t understand a thing. I understand everything else”, she adds, “but I don’t know what it  _ means _ and that means it’s probably definitely going to be on the exam and it’s going to be the question which determines everything and I’m going to…”

“Pass the exam with excellent marks and become the most dope Sergeant out there?”

“Fail, Jake. I’m going to fail.”

 

He's heard her say it before, but never using this somber a tone. She drags out the word  _ fail,  _ pronounces it like it's a hundred pound-weight she's on her way to drop, sending it to leave a distinguished dent in their wooden floors, and she's looking him right in the eyes unwavering while. 

He knows she's not going to fail, and he suspects part of her, no matter how well hidden, knows it too. Amy Santiago, lover of tests, is as prepared for this exam as can be, but not even thorough preparation will stand a chance against vicious, overpowering anxiety.

_ No, you're not _ , he wants to tell the stressed out ghost of his girlfriend sitting in front of him, knowing full well she'll snap at him for implying so without further argumentation, calling him biased. 

He's not biased. Maybe he's slightly inclined to always and forever defend the unquestionable fact that Amy Santiago is an incredible detective and human slash genius with determination enough to become the goddamn president if she wanted to, but he's not biased. Still, he knows it's not going to work on her, so he settles for another option.

 

“No, you're not”, he starts, and she opens her mouth to protest but he doesn't give her the time. “Because I’ll help you study.”

She snorts, and he thinks he can see the hint of a smile as she uses the sleeve of her hoodie to wipe away a tear. “You're going to help me study?”

“Yeah. Come on, babe - I may not have been the greatest student of all, but I was nerdy enough to have decent grades and I managed to successfully cram for a ton of academy exams. Our genius brains are already amazing at solving cases together. We can do this.”

She rolls her eyes at him, shaking her head, but then nods. “Yeah, okay. You can help me study.”

“And I will”, he promises, tucking one of the messy braids behind her ear. “Tomorrow. Because first, you're going to go to sleep.”

“We have to get up for work in less than four hours anyway.”

“I have the day off and you're going to call in sick. Terry’s studied for the exam once, he’ll understand.”

“I can't just call in sick. I'm perfectly fine to go to work.”

“I woke up and you were crying.”

“I'm not tired”, she says, and he tries not to laugh at the clear drowsiness in her voice.

“You're literally almost falling off your chair as we speak.”

She sighs and nods again, leaning forward and resting her head against his chest. “Okay”, she mumbles. “But we're studying for the whole day. And we're setting an alarm for tomorrow.”

“Granted.”

 

He lets her catch his breath, close her eyes for a moment while he holds her, stroking her back.

They go to bed again at four a.m., and when the alarm goes off at nine the next morning she's already rushing out of bed to get the day started, but at least he got her to sleep a few hours. Under the current circumstances, he considers this a success as good as any.

( _ One day _ , he thinks as he makes her breakfast when she's already started reading,  _ he's going to marry her _ .)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stressed out amy is a mood and jake is the greatest boyfriend
> 
> also, i'm realizing that a lot of the "i love you"s are said by jake. i promise i've planned for some to be amy, i've just happened to write a lot of jake as these are done in random order.


	6. and the world has somehow shifted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt no. 39, requested by anonymous: "Don't cry."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have written this exact concept like, three times before, but I was feeling down and I needed more baby fluff in my life so here is... more baby fluff

Best case scenario, Jake has slept about two non-consecutive hours in the last twenty-four. If being a parent is as sleep-depriving as at least ten more people - including Terry, his mom and the cashier in the nearby bodega - described to him in detail months ago, he’s nailing it already.

 

The November sun making its way through the blinds is a pleasant companion when he eventually gives up on sleep, receiving a quiet murmur from his wife when his arm is no longer around her shoulders. He presses a kiss to her forehead instead and she hums, content.

There’s a noise from the bassinet next to Amy. It’s a whimper, much weaker than the first early cries he heard from his daughter when the team of doctors and nurses got her to start breathing after what felt like eternity, but it’s confirmation she’s still there and alive and healthy and  _ theirs _ .

He reaches out to stroke her little cheek with his index finger, moving the unicorn lovey gifted to them by Gina closer to his daughter’s face. Soaked in Amy’s scent after the nights she spent sleeping with it close before they packed it in the hospital bag, the plush animal has the whimpers ceasing in seconds, and he makes a mental note to thank his mom for that specific tip.

The newborn yawns wide, freeing an arm from the baby blanket she's been swaddled in to stretch out, and he stands hypnotized watching her movements. Part of him is shocked that she's still here after yesterday, out in the world and seeming such an obvious part of it even after ten short hours, unbothered by the fact that she's holding his whole heart in her miniscule fists.

He has a daughter. 

He takes a deep breath to keep from crying. His wife and child both need sleep, and he needs coffee. 

 

The mother-baby ward’s coffee machine rumbles to life as he presses the cappuccino button, the plain mug almost disappearing behind a cloud of white steam. Jake watches it make one cup, then lets it make another in case his no-longer-pregnant wife would want one. There’s no way she slept more than he did; they were both up for most of the night staring at their baby in disbelief like a couple of moon-eyed buffoons, and he may be tired, but he's not spent the last twenty-four hours in back and forth brutal pain and has not pushed any humans out of him, so he figures he shouldn’t complain. 

 

Amy’s sitting up in bed when he gets back. Jake can’t help but note how tired she looks, bags under her eyes and her ponytail far from its usual neat state, but she’s also watching their daughter, caressing a tiny baby hand with her thumb, and the love he sees in that action makes the exhaustion near invisible.

“I brought coffee”, he whispers and carefully holds out one of the mugs. “If you want some.”

“Aww.” She accepts it, giving him a sunshine smile in return. “You’re the best.”

“Always.” He sits down at the foot of the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Like a truck ran over the lower half of my body and I’ve not slept for a week.”

“Sounds fantastic.”

“And happy”, she adds, grinning. “Really, really happy.”

“I feel you.”

Their hours-old daughter lets out a few short grunts, not sounding quite like cries but discontent enough for them both to shift their focus to her in an instant.

“You want her?” He asks and Amy nods, so he lifts the newborn up the exact same way they practiced on dolls at one of the parenting courses they went to; it had seemed ridiculous then, but he’s grateful now. Amy holds out her arms, and soon enough, she’s cradling her baby against her chest and Jake thinks his heart might just be exploding.

“I think she might be hungry”, his wife mumbles. “I’ll try to - I mean, I’ll see if I can. Solve it.”

“Oh. Yeah. Uhm, let me know if you want… help?” He grimaces, and she laughs. “That felt wrong.”

“I think I’ll be okay for this part. Just don't distract me.”

 

“Okay”, Jake hears after a few minutes of upset noises from their newborn and soothing whispers from Amy. “I think we might be doing it now. Maybe.”

“You're doing awesome”, he confirms, though he technically cannot be sure of more than the fact that it looks right from a distance. “Totally acing motherhood.”

There’s a weak smile on her lips. “I try.”

He squeezes her leg, then abandons his empty coffee mug on the nightstand so he can sit next to them without risking spilling hot coffee on their baby and proving himself a bad father in the first twelve hours. 

Amy’s still biting her lip the way she does when she's nervous or really focused, or maybe it's a mix of both, but their daughter brings her hand up to rest low on her mother's chest, and Amy's mouth shapes to an  _ o _ .

“Told you”, Jake tells them both, feeling a stubborn tear making its way down his cheek. “Acing it.”

He touches his finger to the little hand. It grips onto it, and by then he's definitely, for sure crying.

“Don't cry”, Amy warns, but there are tears in her eyes as well. 

“I’m sorry. It's just… we were so close to losing her yesterday. And now she’s here, outside, and it's all just… insane.”

“It's going to take some getting used to, for sure.”

“Yeah”, he nods, wiping a few tears away with the back of his hand. “But I think we can do it. What’s on the agenda for our first day of parenthood?”

“Checkups. Picking a name. Signing birth certificate papers.”

“You think we can do it?”

“I think if we made her”, Amy says, stroking the small tufts of dark hair sticking out from under the daughter’s hospital hat, “We can do anything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some parts of this felt slightly all over the place but I hope you enjoyed it still ❤︎


	7. you come around and the armor falls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt number 13, suggested by johnny-and-dora: "Sorry I'm late."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the first one of the prompts that just wouldn't stay the short little piece it was supposed to be and instead became 1.3k but it's really sweet so I'll let it off with a warning. title from state of grace by taylor swift.

A quick glance at her watch confirms it - Jake should have been here seventeen minutes ago.

There is no trace of him. 

Amy sighs, channeling all her self-discipline to resist the urge to send another follow-up text, asking about his current location and why he's finding it amusing to let his girlfriend of three months sit and wait on the steps outside of his apartment, when really, he should have been there to meet her long ago.

It's not even him she's most disappointed in. She's worked with him for five years, knows clear as day he could probably find a way to be late for his own funeral, but he's made a point of arriving on perfect time for each of their scheduled dates so far and somehow, she got used to it. So used to it she went ahead and assumed the trend would continue, would allow for her to decide a time with him over text and be able to go straight to his apartment after spending a weekend at her parents house. She was acting like a straight-up optimist, which feels strange and unnatural and clearly doesn't serve her well.

 

Nineteen minutes late.

Amy supposes it could have been worse. If she has to be stuck waiting outside a boyfriend’s apartment, she’d much rather it’d be a pleasantly warm evening towards the end of summer, the kind of weather where even she’s given up on wearing an extra coat, than a freezing January afternoon with her exhales creating clouds of white vapor. Outside of the fact that the chill of the stone steps seeps through the fabric of her floral summer dress, she's not too uncomfortable. She's still annoyed, though.

Her phone vibrates in her hand, but it's just a Facebook notification, reminding her she's invited to Floorgasm’s dance show at a birthday party tomorrow. Still nothing from Jake.

She wants to put down the phone in her purse to keep from looking at the time, but holds onto it for some inexplicable reason anyway. 

 

Twenty-two minutes.

She should dig out her book, her laptop, do some work, anything but keep wasting her time staring at the customers entering and exiting the bodega across the street. Hell, she should go home to her own apartment, text her boyfriend to drag his ass over there when he next remembers to look at the time and then act extra bitter for the entire night when he shows up. That was her method for any time Teddy was late and it worked perfectly to give him a bad conscience each time, yet she lacks all temptation to do something similar now.

Jake's not doing it on purpose. She knows that, knows he fits an abundance of criteria for an ADHD diagnosis - including poor sense of time - but keeps putting off speaking to a professional about it. He's not  _ intentionally  _ making himself late, but rather is just not wired for keeping track of time. She knows. She wishes her growing impatience knew it, too.

 

Twenty-five.

Nearly half an hour. Half an hour is a long time, half an hour is allowed-to-be-pissed time, half an hour means she could call his phone and demand to know where he's at. She still doesn't. She keeps turning the phone in her hands instead, waiting for a text, a call, an explanation. In place of anger, worry is growing. Maybe something happened, maybe he managed to get himself kidnapped again or he's going undercover and Captain Holt forgot to tell her about it, maybe he was the victim of a street shooting and is bleeding to death on the concrete.

She googles  _ recent shootings Brooklyn _ , but sees nothing that could be her boyfriend and draws a tentative breath of relief. She texts him instead, a neutral  _ Where are you? _ , but the reply won't come.

 

Twenty-seven minutes.

At this point, she's barely even angry. She just misses him, misses her boyfriend after spending a weekend answering too many questions from her parents and all seven of her brothers about him, misses his laugh and the way he scrunches his forehead when he’s not sure she’s right about something. She misses the smell of his aftershave when she presses kisses to his neck, misses the way he hums and draws her closer in the mornings after she’s stayed over at his place on his new and dreamy mattress, misses untimely Die Hard-references and him insisting on helping her clean up even though she’s way more efficient on her own. She’s spent four days without him and it’s not a lot, she spent six months without him when he was undercover with the FBI and she couldn’t for the life of her figure out how she felt about him and that was unquestionably worse than the four days she’s had now with texting and phone calls and a FaceTime session to keep her stable, but she still missed him. She missed him enough to have felt jittery for the entirety of today, her heart fluttering and smile inevitable whenever she’s thought about seeing him tonight. 

She just wants to see him.

 

Twenty-nine minutes late.

Her back is hurting from her less than ideal posture on these steps, and she stands up to stretch her arms over and then behind her head, drawing her shoulder blades together and apart, tilting her head side to side.

That’s when she sees him. 

 

He’s running towards her, face all red from exertion like he’s sprinted the entire way from the precinct, and he’s panting like he just completed a marathon when he reaches her.

“Oh my god”, he gets out between gasps for air, “Ames, shit. Sorry I’m late.”

“It’s okay”, she says robotically, then remembers her annoyance and adds, “Kind of.”

“It’s not okay, it’s a dick move and you deserved better.” Jake sits down on the steps right where she was sitting a minute ago, putting his head in his hands. “I walked to the precinct today, because it was nice out and you’re always telling me I should get more fresh air. So I forgot I didn’t have my car.”

“You could have called.”

“My phone died”, he says, holding up his phone and pressing the power button to reveal the Apple picture of an empty battery and blinking charger. “Out of nowhere. Or I guess not out of nowhere. I forgot how much battery FaceTime takes, and we were talking for a long time yesterday.”

“Oh.” She’s blushing now, starting to regret all her previous judgement. 

“So I ran. From the precinct to here. Like a crazy person.”

“For me?”

He rolls his eyes. “No, because I love exercise and especially running so much, I constantly go on 5k runs in plaid, jeans and leather jacket while carrying a bag  _ just for fun _ \- yes, Ames, obviously for you.”

“Wow.” She sits down next to him, putting her head on his shoulder. “And here I was thinking you were just ignoring me.” 

“I could literally never ignore you. It’s my most fatal flaw.” He looks straight at her, a gravity to the warm brown eyes she’s also missed  _ so much _ . “If I ever ignore you, that’s definite proof I’ve been taken over by an evil identical twin or a super smart evil robot.” 

“Well”, she smiles, heart much warmer now than before. “That’s good to know. And no offense, but I think you might need a shower after your run.”

“Will you share it with me?”

“Only because you’re the cheesiest, sweetest boyfriend ever.”

“Aww”, he grins. “Santiago thinks I’m  _ swee-eet _ \-  _ ow, _ don’t punch my shoulder!” 

 

Forty-two minutes after their originally scheduled meeting time, he’s trailing kisses along her wet skin and she can tell exactly where it’s going.

Yeah, she missed him alright. 


	8. i'll be the heart of your story and hope the end never comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt no 66, suggested by ninetyninth: "Stay over."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a.k.a a meditation on amy being an introvert that I wrote very quickly because we recently talked about being an introvert in my psychology class!

 

Amy Santiago’s always been an introvert.

Working in such a people-filled, populated space where silence is non-existent and time alone is rare, she needs her hours of quiet time with her book or crossword during the evenings she has off in order to avoid feeling like she's going to explode if she as much as hears another noise. It's a fact and it's a principle and she refuses to regulate it because of a boyfriend. If someone's going to be in her life, they're going to let her have her precious time to herself, and they're not going to question it. 

Jake hasn't, so far. He knows her, better than any of her previous boyfriends ever did, and has as of yet not seriously had a problem with her telling him she needs to be on her own for a night. (It’s one of his many excellent boyfriend qualities - and she’s finding he has a lot of them.) He’s even once performed the heroic act of leaving her apartment after she came to the conclusion that being around people felt like far more than her social energy reserves could handle for the night, feigning disappointment but sending her intermittent texts with heart emojis and snapchats of him in the puppy filter throughout the night. Though he might not always come across as such in rash decisions or rollercoaster thinking journeys, Jake’s a respectful person, and she's happy to learn this includes respect of her sometimes being too exhausted to manage more social interaction for the night.

 

When they first get together, she never wants him to leave. Screw light and breezy, they said, and from the way she misses him when they spend even a night apart, her heart agrees. Waking up next to him is still new and exciting, watching him attempt to figure out the organisation system of her cupboards and let out an excited cheer when he finds the wine glasses is still adorable, each kiss is still a mix of nerves and addiction. He stays over for days at a time, she spends enough time at his place to convince him to let her help him clean it properly. They have sex and they go on dates and they have more sex and they become Jake and Amy, a couple, a thing. She loves it, have never felt quite so at home in a budding relationship before, and spending time on her own feels inessential. 

 

Then, as they grow impossibly closer and she comes to truly realize how this romance is more than temporary, that it’s a stable and real thing prepared to nestle its way into the carefully lined out details of her life, sometimes she does want him to leave. She needs to go out to Shaw’s on her own and have a drink with just Rosa, see Kylie for the first time in too long and she needs to be entirely on her own for a night, free to delve deep into the magic of a good book. She needs to feel what it’s like to get to miss her boyfriend for a day, if only because it makes the reunions that much sweeter. They learn to make sure they consciously separate themselves every now and then. She can’t help but feel like it makes them stronger. 

 

Eventually, they reach her favorite step. They reach the comfortable state, where she can tell him  _ you know, I think I’d rather just read tonight  _ and he can ask if she wants him to leave and she can reply  _ no, you know what, stay over.  _ She’ll read her book at one end of the couch and he’ll play Kwazy Cupcakes at the other end, their legs touching and the odd comment shared without need for further communication. When she looks up after turning a page, she’ll find him glancing up at her, and they’ll share a fleeting, blissful smile.

It’s effortless and it’s comfortable, and Amy thinks it might just make it the best relationship of her life. 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still have like ten or so left of these to do, and while I enjoy them, I'm not really sure whether I'll write all or not. also, once again, they're being done in completely randomized order. trying my best!  
> (I'm just so honored to get prompts at all I want to write something for all of them but there were a lot hhh)


	9. every turn will be safe with me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt number 14, suggested by storyinmyeyes: "Can I have this dance?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from can i have this dance from high school musical 3 because i'm funny and i highkey love that song, so.

In all honesty, Jake is shocked by how nice this reception is. When they first got the invitations for the Holt-Cozner vow renewal ceremony, he’d laughed with Rosa about how the party would probably be a replica of Holt’s after-work party during their time at the night shift three years ago, with music by John Philip Sousa and papers with the word ‘party’ written on them stuck to the walls of the briefing room, but what he’s seeing in front of him now couldn’t be further from the scenario they’d jokefully pictured. 

There’s upbeat music playing, new pop hits mixed with classics. The selection of drinks is amazing, the appetizer table had chicken fingers he’s had far too many of. The decorations are tasteful and include majestic balloon arch in the colors of the rainbow. His work-dads are double-married - which he definitely considers a word and thing despite Amy’s protests - and he’s been brought to tears by Holt’s vows, losing it for real when he heard the words  _ love is like oatmeal, it sustains you _ .

(“Please stop crying”, his wife had whispered, squeezing his hand. “People are looking.”

“You’re crying too”, he’d remarked, discreetly accepting the paper handkerchief she offered him.

“I’m hormonal, I have an excuse.”)

 

It’s sure to be the most beautiful re-wedding slash vow renewal ceremony he’s seen. He’s had a couple of drinks, not enough to feel drunk but enough to feel lighter, more joyous. He’s given Holt and Kevin longer hugs than ever before in his life, earning himself a sympathetic and only slightly awkward pat on the back from the man he kind of considers to be his father (he’s got stuff). He’s gotten Amy alcohol-free drinks and every appetizer she asked for, sat down to enjoy some of them with her before returning to the dance floor when his wife insisted she’d be fine with just Rosa as company. He’s let loose dancing first with Gina and then Charles, even danced with his four-year-old goddaughter and being rewarded with delighted squeals of laughter as he spun her round, round.

There’s just one thing that’s missing.

 

His wife looks up at him when he sits down next to her. He can see the exhaustion in her eyes and weariness in her smile, yet she still manages to look so effortlessly stunning in the shine of fairy lights and bright lanterns, he gets a fierce temptation to start kissing her and never stop.

Rosa gives him a grin and squeezes Amy’s shoulder, then leaves to give them some privacy.

“Hey”, he whispers, linking his wife’s right hand with his and pressing a kiss to it. “How’s life going?”

“I’m eight months pregnant and sober at a wedding, I’ve had better days.”

“We can still leave if you want to.”

“No, stop that.” Amy sighs. “It’s Holt and Kevin. We have to be here.”

“Not if you’d rather be at home”, he reassures her, but she just shakes her head. There’s a wistful look on her face as she looks out over the partygoers, watching the crowd of dancing, loudly conversing people before a moment before looking at him. 

“You look nice, Jake.”

“Well, duh. I sprang for the four-button suit jacket.”

“I’m serious. You look amazing, and you’re having the time of your life and it’s great, you should enjoy herself and I’m so glad you are, but -” She’s gesturing with her hands at him as she speaks, biting her lip before her next words. “I’m jealous, okay?”

He frowns, nonplussed. “Jealous?”

“We’re at a party, and I just want to celebrate and get tipsy and dance like everyone else, but I can’t. Because of this.” Amy points demonstratively to her growing bump, dressed for the occasion in a dark maternity wrap dress complete with a gorgeous flower pattern. “And you know I  _ hate  _ complaining, but it’s not fun, you know? I’m clumsy, I’m out of breath, I’m exhausted and my back hurts. I had to buy a new dress just to go to this thing and I’m too tired to enjoy it.” She gives her glass of alcohol-free wine a disappointed look, then takes the last sip anyway. “It sucks. Sorry.”

“Hey, no, Ames.” He tucks her hair behind one ear, cupping her cheek and leaning in for a chaste kiss. “First of all, you could complain for literally nine months straight and I’d take every bit of it. Second, you’re beautiful.”

“I pretty much look like I swallowed a basketball and somehow every other part of my body grew too.”

“And you’re _rocking_ _it_. Third, you know the one thing that’s not perfect about this party?” She shakes her head. “I haven’t gotten to dance with you yet.”

She laughs. “Jake, come on. I can barely see my feet.”

“You’re going to do great. Plus, I may have talked the DJ into playing a special song next, and if you don’t dance with me to it, I’ll be forever upset.”

“What special so… oh.” The opening tones to  _ All Out Of Love _ start playing, soft and familiar, and she rolls her eyes when he stands up, stretching out his hand.

“Can I have this dance?”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“One dance with my incredibly hot and badass wife and baby mama before I take her home, make her hot chocolate and let her go to sleep?”

“Fine”, she relents, taking his hand. “One.”

 

As they sway back and forth on the dance floor, Amy’s head on his shoulder as she inevitably steps on his toes a few times, he’s sure of it - this is the best re-wedding he’s ever been to.


End file.
